Inner Fire
by FateFall
Summary: Her fire's dying out, with every target eliminated a piece of her humanity is lost. Every decision in her life has been decided for her. She thinks this is how it always will be, until the day he steps in and gives her a choice.
1. Introduction: A Dying Spark

She hadn't cared in a long time. Not about the missions, the marks, or even the pay. She had always been viewed as a tool, and now she accepted it. Her memories are almost funny to her now. She used to fight it; silent rebellion, she had called it, her last shred of "humanity."

_What a joke_

After years of torture, or "training", as they liked to call it, she had kept that spark of rebellion. She didn't act out in ways they would notice, that would have been stupid. Not to mention a death sentence. It was always small, silent almost. A standard training move with something more of her own design added in; and extra kick or jab here, a punch to a pressure point there. Her trainers had thought she was just ambitious; she had strayed from the standard training moves and added something more for reasons completely different; she had been proving that she was _more_, more then their mind games, more then their corrupt orders, just simply _more. _

When she finally got out to do fieldwork, she still had that same spark. Orders to eliminate targets came along with specific directions of when and where exactly to "complete" her mission. Make no mistake; she would get her mark. She always did, but maybe the time would be altered slightly, or the weapon she had been issued for the mission had been discarded for something more…. creative.

Again, her superiors thought her as ambitious, and delighted in her new blood lust. She didn't see it as blood lust, she saw it as her marks of a renegade, tiny marks, and still so quiet, but they kept her working.

_If a tool doesn't work, it gets replaced. _

But that was years ago, and her rebellion's fire is dying out, nothing but flickers of embers now. It's funny to her because she had always expected to break under one of their "training exercises".

But no, it's slowly ebbing away with the flow of blood from every target that fell at her hands; she could almost feel the sand in the hourglass running out. Every scrap of humanity she had left was falling with the missions that shook even her controlled conscience.

_I don't care,_ she would tell herself.

_Lies, _a voice would whisper back.


	2. Chapter 2: Unsettled Flames

Blood.

The culmination of every drop from every target was now a giant wave of red.

And the tide is coming in.

Natasha screams and runs forward into the dark, only to be pushed back by a mass of shadows. She stares into the dark and chokes back a cry of fear from what she saw.

Faces… shadows forming the faces of every mark she's ever had to kill, every mission's target ever eliminated.

Not a single name to hundreds of shadow faces, they don't need names- Every face is labeled by a cry, - be it of pain or misery, pleads for mercy, or outcries of anguish – all were followed by the shuddering sound their last breath had made once they were felled by her hand.

The memories of past missions flood her mind in ways the approaching wave never could; leaving her shattered and raw.

She remembers them all.

Every.

Last.

One.

Now the tide is closing in fast- she almost wants it to. Anything is better then staring into the ice-cold eyes before her, filled with accusation and calling out with screams of vengeance.

The shadow's wraith-like claws sink into her flesh and bind, offering her before the ever closing-in current.

Her instincts kick in and snap her out of the paralyzed state; she thrashes and squirms, but the shadows and claws hold her in place, restrained and frozen, watching in terror as the wave of blood comes rushing down…

And apparently, so does she.

_**THUD!**_

Black Widow woke up from the nightmare, looking hazily up at the ceiling from her bedroom floor momentarily dazed from her fall from the bed, only to be brought to the reality of the nightmare that is to come. She has a mission today. Today, like every other day of countless past missions- and if she should be successful, countless future missions-she will kill someone.

It is how it has always been and how she believes it will always be. Since the Red Room had trained her and molded her into the assassin that she is now, she has never found reason to question it.

Until today.

Until today, mission assignments had never bothered her. Until today, she had found solace in the way Red Room would issue their assignments in a cold and distanced manner, leaving no room for sympathy for the targets.

Until today, she never cared.

But as she stared down at the pictures of the targets, she saw herself.

The surveillance photo was of three people in a park, a mother with long brown hair and a smile only enhanced by the laugh lines she had; a father with laughing blue eyes and an amused grin on his face as he looked down at the small figure beneath them; their daughter. The little girl has long brown hair and small elegant features with a happy beaming face as she looks back at her parents.

As Natasha looked at the photo of the young family, the woman and child's hair changed to a dark red shade instead of the brown and the man's blue eyes changed to a bright emerald green. She was swept with some of the few memories she had of her past; her real past.

Green eyes

Long red hair

Laughing, smiling faces.

Love.

Natasha can't remember what it felt like to be loved, but she remembers knowing that before her parents were taken for her; they had loved her, she can't remember what it felt like, just that she had been… it is only a echo of a memory lost on the path that had made her what she is now.

As she looks down at the picture among the rest of the mission details, she knows that she is compromised. Black Widow may have been assigned to kill the wife and child of the man in the picture; but Natasha Romanoff may not be able to go through with it.

She mentally corrects herself- _No. I can, and I will. _

She has, after all, done this before. This time will be no different.

Before her chauffer can arrive she starts to get ready; shower, hair, dressed, weapons.

She makes a point to stick to the monotony of routine. Hell, she practically clings to it.

After exiting from the bathroom of her small agent-issued apartment, she walks over to her suitcase and rummages through the clothes, the small closet at the side of the room was ignored; a spy never unpacks.

Dresses and lingerie were cast off to the side, usually she is relived when seduction is not required in her missions, but today it is only a cold comfort.

She forgoes the Black Widow uniform and instead dresses in a plain black shirt with long sleeves and some long jeans tied off with a belt. Then after looking outside at the cold snow and ice outside; opts for a fur lined jacket as well. She may be a bio-engineered weapon, but she still can feel cold; even if she's Russian.

The weapons she picks are her standard gun, secured by her hip holster, and her vast array of knives, hidden in places she really would rather not explain. She would receive the sniper gun once her chauffer arrived.

For now. She waits and stares into the apartments small chimney fire.

She can practically feel the flames dying out.

**A/N: Hi there! This is my first fan fiction, (and story in general) so I would really love some feedback and comments, reviews would be great! Thank-you to the people that have already followed this story, it means a lot!**


	3. Chapter 3: Ebon Flame

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own any of the Marvel characters in this story, but I do get to use them for my own twisted amusement. **

**A/N: I know this story's mood so far is really serious; it will lighten up with some humor later. Expect a lot of Clintasha to come. AND ANGST. But I will be staying as in character as possible, so no uncharacteristically emotional crap and it will take awhile for serious Clintasha. By the way this story is set about ten years before The Avengers, Clint is 18, Natasha is 16. Their birthdays are set so that they are only about two years apart in age.**

**IMPORTANT: "Ebon Flame" is one of Natasha's aliases from the comics, it fit in with the story theme so I will be using it until her real code name is discovered.**

**Inner Fire**

**Chapter 3: Ebon Flame**

_Two days before Natasha's assignment…_

Clint Barton stared down at the mission file before him; so far the ten pages he had flipped through had been nothing but names and dates. Hundreds of them all neatly lined up and filed by some SHIELD secretary.

Every name on that list was the name of a dead man.

Clint looked back through the list. No, not just men; women too.

He grit his teeth in disgust as he scored the folder for the name of the enemy target.

And his blood ran cold when he read the target's name.

Ebon Flame.

Clint Barton had spent the last three years of his 18-year-old life at SHIELD. And in that time, no other name had ever come close to the infamy and fear of the Black Widow's legacy.

A legacy of death.

Very little was known about the agent, except that their organization ties were to the organization "Red Room" and that Ebon Flame had_ never _failed a mission.

With the unknown assassin under the Red Room's control and no better then their tool; regimes fell, economies toppled, and politicians vanished without a trace.

Ebon Flame had first come to SHIELD's attention four years ago when three newly formed small city states in Africa; whom had just started democracy, had fallen in less then three days. And ever since, had only risen in rank of SHIELD's most wanted list. Two years ago, Ebon Flame had peaked on the list of SHIELD's top priorities; the situation had gone from "wanted dead or alive" to "wanted really dead, and with proof."

And now Fury wanted him, Clint Barton, to go play Russian roulette with a relatively unknown master assassin? _Oh, hell no._

"She's not as much of a unknown agent now, at least compared to four years ago. Or last week." An all too familiar voice interrupts Clint's thoughts on how to politely tell a certain one-eyed director to go to hell.

_Coulson._

Clint turned as he faced his handler of three years and still the only person at SHIELD who could sneak up on him.

_Wait a second_… "She?"

"She." Coulson repeated with a nod and his signature "Well you weren't expecting that" smirk, before taking a seat across from Clint in the plain SHIELD pre-mission information collective room.

"Do you mean to tell me that Ebon Flame; bane of SHIELD's existence for the past four years, destroyer of foreign economies regimes, not to mention the assassin of _400 hundred people_; is a _woman_?" Clint questioned, completely stunned by the news.

Coulson rolled his eyes, "Don't be a sexist pig, Barton. And it's 387 people, not 400."

If Barton hadn't already been sitting down, he probably would have fallen over.

"Okay." He said, taking a steady breath, "So what makes now so different? You know what happened to the last five agents to go after her. And I don't really think the last prank I pulled on the new junior agents really deserves _that_."

Coulson noticeably cringed, at both the reference to Clint's prank, (which involved the use of super glue and some very terrified junior agents.) and the deceased assassins.

For the past three years, SHIELD had sent dozens of agents to try to kill/apprehend the renowned assassin. All had come back with a failed mission status, or not at all. The "last five agents" Clint was referring to had been some of the top agents SHIELD had; and even they weren't enough.

Coulson regained his composure and continued, "One week ago, we didn't know what she looked like."

He reaches into his neatly pressed agent suit and pulls out a photograph, then slides it across the table to Clint.

Clint looked appraisingly down at the picture; the woman in it was outside, somewhere in a jungle or rainforest; while the surroundings were somewhat blurry, her form was clearly depicted.

She was young, red headed, and although Clint didn't want to admit it; she was _gorgeous. _Her body was slim, but not overly so, her features refined and angelic. But her eyes… he froze when he looked closely at her eyes, they were absolutely captivating; lush green emerald eyes… eyes so filled with fire, he was surprised the picture itself wasn't consumed by the flames.

Fiery eyes that spoke of silent rebellion and outrage.

_Cool it, Barton. It's just a picture; it can't give emotions that specific. _

And yet still after he turned his attention away, the flames in her eyes stayed with him, already stuck in his memory like an old scar.

"So any other information?" Clint asked.

Coulson gave a nervous cough; Barton was not going to like this…

"She works for Red Room under the code name 'Black Widow'… and she's 16."

Clint stared back at him with a growing rage, "You expect me to kill a kid." It wasn't a question; it was disbelief. _She's only two years younger then me._

Coulson looked resigned in his explanation, "If we don't, two lives will be added to her ledger. One of them even younger then herself."

Clint calms and is silent as he waits for more information.

"Red Room is targeting the Russian scientist, Maxim Aristov, for failure to administer a new type of bio-enhancer they developed in their labs. Maxim called it 'inhuman' and refused to use it on the Red Room test subjects."

Clint raised an eyebrow, " All this for sparing a few lab rats? Don't get me wrong; I'm an animal lover too. But still…"

"The affects of the serum alter the bio chemistry on the one it's administered to. It doesn't just enhance physical traits like strength, speed, and the body's ability to heal. You know how humans can only use 50% of their brain? This will increase it by at least 12%. And…" Coulson looks gravely at Clint. "They're not using lab rats, Barton. The enhancers are already tested and proven to work, at least for those who survive the process."

"You mean to tell me that this is going to be used on _people?_"

Coulson grimaces, "It already has, the beta testers were civilians, and were the first human test subjects; less then 25% survived the serum, the rest were eliminated after initial analysis. Red Room plans on using this to develop their own line of super-soldiers."

"Jesus Christ, is there any good news?"

"Maxim Aristov successfully escaped Red Room's labs after erasing all the information on how to recreate the perfected serum, and has the last of the vials of serum with him."

"So what 'two lives' are in danger here?"

"We managed to get Maxim and the serum vials to a secure location. However…" Coulson pauses and reaches into his suit pocket yet again to pull out another photo and hands it to Clint. This time it's three people, a family in a park; a man and woman with a little girl between them, she couldn't have been more then seven years old.

Coulson watches as the young agent across from him silently studies the picture. "Maxim's family is still in Russia. His wife and daughter are being targeted by Red Room, they plan to use them as hostages for the serum."

"And Black Widow's involvement?" Clint asks while glancing back down to the other picture on the table, the one of _her_.

"She's in charge of finding and retrieving the hostages." Coulson continued, "Your mission is to make sure that that doesn't happen."

Clint studies the two girls in each photo; one an innocent child, the other a ruthless killer. He makes a choice.

"I'll get my bow."

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**A/N: Sorry for the long wait, I'll be updating more frequently. Chapter 4 is already half way done!**

**The more reviews I get, the faster I'll update ;)**


	4. Chapter 4: Rekindle

"_She's in charge of finding and retrieving the hostages."_

The finding part was true, but that tiny detail about the retrieving?

Not so much.

Red Room doesn't need hostages when there's nothing to negotiate.

Not when they already have everything they need.

Natasha scowled down at the picture in her hands.

The picture of Maxim Aristov and his family was aggravating her more and more with each passing second. He looked so happy, so carefree, and so _fricking stupid_

She gazes out of the car's tinted windows into the icy terrain around her while her chauffer navigates the winding mountain road.

_Did he really think he could leave so easily? That they wouldn't have known what he was planning? Once you are with Red Room, there is no escape._

She knew that better than anyone.

For one of the most brilliant scientists of his time, Maxim Aristov was an idiot.

Leaving Red Room was his first mistake.

His second, trying to delete the files on the bio serum -which was potentially the greatest weapon they had ever possessed – was only adding insult to injury.

Natasha sighs and looks away from the picture, placing it on the car seat beside her, then gazes out of the car window to look at the surrounding snow-covered forests and frozen mountain terrain that the vehicle rushed past.

Of course Red Room had known of Aristov's escape plan.

How else would he have left Red Room alive? Maxim had walked out of Red Room as a pet dog walks around without his leash: simply because his master let him.

They had let him.

The files that Maxim had "deleted" were really just fakes. The real files were safely stored away on Red Room's mainframe. Everything needed to recreate the perfected serum; they had it all.

They didn't need the 'last vials' that Aristov had with him. So they certainly didn't need some hostages to negotiate for a bio-weapon they already had.

Her gaze flickered again to the picture on the seat beside her.

The mother and daughter's laughing faces in the picture caused a shiver to run down her spine at thought of her assignment.

It wouldn't be hostages this time.

And it wouldn't be a simple target elimination this time either. She had known that as soon as she had stepped into the car only hours before and noticed the absence of the standard agent-issued weapons case in the back seat.

A higher authority wanted to orchestrate a show and she still had no idea what the next plot twist would be. But one thing was certain: Maxim Aristov had committed treason and the punishment would be equal to his crime; and if not served to him, it would be served to his family.

Only the sudden stop of the car and silence from the car's engine pulled Natasha out of her dark thoughts.

"Driver, why have we stopped?" She was on full guard and already had a knife against the chauffer's throat.

Before the driver could even stammer out an answer she turned her attention to what was happening outside; two of Red Room's agent issued cars were also stopped and on the road next to them.

Her offensive demeanor shifted to a more defensive one. With every nerve in her body still on high alert and ready to react, she slowly lowered the knife from her chauffer's throat and leaned back in her seat. The man inhaled air with a gasp and relaxed only when she started getting out of the car.

One of the other two vehicle's occupants opened its doors to let out a man; he was a foot taller then her and about twice her size, handsome and only about twenty or so, he sauntered toward her with a Cheshire cat grin on his face.

"Spider, it's good to see you." He addressed her, his large figure practically looming down on her own much smaller 5'8.

"Cut the crap Viktor. Why the hell are you interrupting my mission?"

The man before her only grinned more, "Interrupting? Oh dear Spider, I prefer to think of it as _enhancing._" At the last word Viktor leaned in closer and reached out to caress a lock of her red hair, she stifled a shudder and held his gaze, glaring back at him.

Viktor finally took notice of the _I-will-cut-you _look in her eyesand stepped back with a fake exasperated sigh. "Tsk, tsk, so uptight. Don't worry; I'm only here on orders. This time." He winked.

Natasha hated him; every single smile and witty line was just a façade hiding the crazy sadistic bastard underneath. To put it simply, Viktor Rykov was a monster.

When she killed a target, it was to complete her mission.

Viktor killed for fun. He loved it; missions were like a game of cat and mouse to him. He used his handsome looks and charms to manipulate people, get them to trust him, and by then it was always too late. So when he found someone so completely immune to his charms and wit, it became a challenge for him.

She raised one eyebrow and stood waiting for him to explain with grudging patience.

He took his sweet time about it too, until grew tired of annoying her after only a few more minutes in the cold mountain air. "I'm to deliver final instructions for the mission to you on the way to that pathetic cabin the targets are harboring in right now." His eyes flashed a sadistic gleam, "Then the fun begins." He frowned, "For you at least, sadly I have to sit back and just enjoy the show this time."

Viktor turned and walked back to his car, turning back only once to make sure she was following.

The rest of the trip there was annoying, to say the least. Viktor held the whole conversation himself, his cheerful mood unhindered by her silent and icy personality.

"Wait until you see the weapon they gave you; never killed someone that way but it's creative, to say the least." Viktor said, reaching into the backseat of the moving car to retrieve a relatively small metal box.

_How the hell is that tiny thing supposed to hold a weapon? _

Natasha peered over with fake disinterest as Viktor opened the box.

Laid neatly in the box and nestled in a protective foam material, were two glass hypodermic needles; inside them was a harmless looking bright blue fluid.

She knew those two needles were anything but harmless, each one had the potential to kill someone within two minutes if their body wasn't able to handle the serum.

And now she was expected to use it on two innocent people. One of them a child.

Even years of training and mental discipline couldn't smother the hallow feeling she felt inside, luckily Viktor was too preoccupied with talking to notice the brief look of horror that escaped her normally emotionless expression when she looked at the box's contents.

Now Viktor finally turned back to her after admiring the contents of the box, "Poetic justice really, the traitor killed by a weapon he had created himself."

Natasha looked out the window to an icy landscape as cold as her heart felt right now.

"Yes, it's ironic really."

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**A/N: This chapter was annoying to write to say the least, don't know why, it just was. **

**There will be some kick-ass action scenes within the next chapter or two, (finally).**

**Remember! Reviews = chapters. And yes, I am holding my chapters for ransom. **

**To everyone who's already reviewed, followed, or favorited this story, Thanks!**


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